THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 65

Early the next morning, Martinez's call was transferred to Mike's apartment. "Is this Mike King?" Martinez asked, extremely nervous.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"My name is Luis Martinez. Mr. Blankenship asked me to call you this morning. He told me you're looking for a man who is here in Caracas?"

"Thanks for calling, Luis. We could sure use your help. When can you be available to meet me?"

"Mr. Blankenship told me I could go whenever you need me."

"Do you have a car?"

"Yes."

"Then come to the Residencias Anauco Hilton. Do you know how to get here?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm in apartment number two hundred and twelve. How soon can you get here?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Good. I'll see you then." Mike hung up and turned to Karen. "Adi kept his promise," he said with a satisfied grin. "His man will be here in thirty minutes."

Half an hour later, Mike's incessant floor pacing was interrupted by a soft knocking on the apartment door. He hurried to open it, and then extended his right hand to his visitor. "You must be Luis. Please come in."

Martinez was still dressed in his work uniform: khaki trousers and a white, short-sleeved shirt. He entered timidly, and stopped when he saw Karen. "Hello," he said.

Karen stood and shook Martinez's hand. "Hi, Luis. Adi Blankenship told us you could help us...May I ask, what work do you do?" She gave an inquisitive stare.

"I drive a truck for him."

"What did you do before that?"

"I left Venezuela twelve years ago and went to the United States. I got a job as a taxi driver in New York. I wanted a better life, but I hated the cold winters. I returned to Caracas as soon as I had saved enough money to get back."

Mike nodded thoughtfully, and then handed Martinez the piece of paper with Servito's address printed on it. "Do you know how to get to this address?"

Martinez nodded.

"Can you take us there?"

"Why do you want to go there?"

"We think that's where Karen's husband is living. We also think her son is there with him and we need you to help us verify that."

"How can I do that?"

"We don't want Karen's husband to know we're in Venezuela. I am hoping that you are willing to go to the door and pretend you're an assessment officer with the City of Caracas. Tell whoever opens the door that you need to know the names of the occupants of the house. I certainly understand if you are uncomfortable with that."

While Mike's proposed deception was way beyond Martinez's job description, he knew his job would be in jeopardy if he refused. "Okay," he said nervously, furrowing his brow.

Less than an hour later, Martinez applied the brakes to his light green 1970 Pontiac as it approached the entrance to Servito's driveway. "That's the driveway to the house," he said, pointing. "You want me to drive in?"

"Yes," Mike replied, straining to get a glimpse of the house through a line of densely foliated shrubs. "Take this with you to the door." Mike handed Martinez a clipboard that held a pad of letter-size paper. "While you're there, I want you to try to remember as much as you can about the house, the surroundings, and the people. Any problems?"